


Le Bateleur

by ziamolarry



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, Lourry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, French, Love, M/M, Magic AU, One Shot, Short, but nope sorry, larry stylinson - Freeform, tagging is hard, uhm kissing, unless it were smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziamolarry/pseuds/ziamolarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's surprising what one little book can lead to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Bateleur

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I've read this book and there's this chapter that just made me giggly and smiley and I'm just really into magical stuff right now so it all added up to this. Sorry for any mistakes or something that's in this, I didn't proofread.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own One Direction or the book this fic is based off of, it belongs to it's amazing author; Erin Morgenstern.

 

 

 

Louis thought it'd be nice to see his family. He hasn't seen them in what? Eight years? Not since the day Louis had turned 18 and had decided to become independent and make his own choices. It's not like he didn't miss them really. It was more like they didn't want him around much, or at all.

Today he had returned to his old home, thinking that maybe giving them a heads up about his visit wouldn't be so necessary, as his visit is only for tea and to check in on the girls. But the house was abandoned, the windows black and a sign standing tall in the lawn with a relator’s face stamped right under the words FOR SALE. Louis lets out a sigh as he kicks at his old front lawn before he heads for his car.

The drive back to London was quick as always, Louis never minding having time for himself. Long drives are the best time to just to think. As soon as he gets to London, he parks near by his own building, deciding on not returning to his luxurious flat just yet. He likes walks, might as well take one now don't you think?

 

 

 

___

 

 

It's been hours, the sky slowly descending from its usual blue to a gloomy gray. Now is as great a time as any to get back home Louis thinks. As he walks back to his flat, he feels the slight chill in the air and places his hands in his coat pockets before he realizes that his notebook isn't there.

Louis swears allowed which earns him a glare from a woman passing by as she steps aside when he stops short on the busy sidewalk. He started to retrace his steps, getting more and more anxious at each twist and turn. A light rain begins to fall, much more like mist, but several umbrellas open amongst the big crowd. He pulls the flaps of his coat closer to his face, eyes scanning the pavement for any sign of his notebook.

He finally stops at a corner near a café, watching the old lamp posts flicker on up and down the street. He wonders if he should just wait until the rain lets up to look for his notebook, then Louis notices that there is a guy standing a few paces away from him, under the awning of said café as he's poring over the pages of a notebook that Louis is pretty sure is his own.

The guy looks like he's nineteen, maybe even a bit older. His eyes are light, and his hair styled as if to seem unstyled yet still is. He wears a simple button up and tight jeans that cling to his body a bit more than it should being damp from the rain. He has a brown bag hanging by his shoulder, big and damp as well. Louis takes a few steps closer, but the guy doesn't notice, he stays completely absorbed in the book in his hands.

Louis can now see that the book is indeed his, opened to a page that's been pasted with a card printed with winged creatures crawling over a spoked wheel. His insanely messy handwriting covers the card and paper around it, incorporating into the solid text. Louis watches the guys expressions as he flips from page to page, a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"I believe that is my book you're holding," he says after a moment, making the guy jump and nearly drop his notebook. The guys eyes widen for a moment as he looks at Louis, as if he's surprised Louis' smiling at him.

"I'm sorry," he says as he quickly closed the book, pushing the journal towards Louis. "You dropped it in the park and I was trying to give it back but I lost you and then I just. . . I'm sorry." He stops, flustered.

"It's really fine," Louis laughs lightly, relieved to have his journal back in his possession. "I thought for sure I lost it for good, which would have been terrible. I owe you one, uh. . .?"

"Harry," he supplies. "Harry Styles." He holds his hand out, a questioning look on his face as he waits for the other's name.

"Louis," he says, then thinks quickly for a moment before continuing. "Louis Tomlinson." The name leaves a strange taste on his tongue, not having used it for an entire year has made it become unfamiliar. Hearing Louis' reply, Harry accepts it at ease.

“A pleasure, Mr. Tomlinson,” He says, a smirk now appearing on his lips. Louis lets out a light laugh as he gives a shake of his head. He should just thank Harry and take his book and go, it is the sensible thing to do. But he is not particularly inclined to return to his empty and quite lonely flat yet.

“Mind if I buy you a drink? As a thanks of course.” Louis asks, after slipping his notebook into his front coat pocket. Harry hesitates, probably knowing that accepting drinks from weird guys he just met on the street corner isn’t the best thing to do, but he nods anyway. 

“Why not right?" He says.

"Great," Louis says. "But there's so many better places than this one"he gestures at the window behind them"somewhere nearby, if you don't mind a damp walk. I don't have an umbrella or anything on me, as you can probably tell." Louis holds both hands up with an exasperated shrug of his shoulders which makes Harry laugh softly.

"I don't mind," Harry replies. Louis offers Harry his arm which makes Harry laugh, a bit louder than before while he takes Louis' arm, and they set off down the street in the softly falling rain.

They walk about a block or two then down a narrow alley, and Louis can feel Harry tense up, but he soon relaxes when they stop at a well-lit doorway next to a stained-glass window. Louis holds the door and gestures for Harry to go in first, bowing his head low while he curtsied. This makes Harry scuff but Louis can almost feel the smirk that's slipped onto Harry's face before they both enter the tiny café, which has actually become Louis' favorite over the past few months. One of the only places in London he's truly at ease in.

Candles flicker in the glass holders on every flat surface, and the walls are painted a burgundy. There are only a few patrons scattered about the intimate space and plenty of empty tables. They decided to sit in the the small table near the window, the soft patter of the rain a soothing sound to their ears. Louis waves the women behind the bar, who then brings them two glasses of Bordeaux, leaving the bottle on the table next to the small vase holding one single yellow rose.

As the time goes on, they talk politely about simple things. Louis offers as very little information about himself, and Harry responds in kind. When Louis asks Harry if he's hungry, all Harry gives is a small smile that betrays that he's actually famished. Louis catches the women behind the bar's attention again, who returns a few minutes later with a platter of cheese and fruit with small slices of baguette.

"How did you even find a place like this?" Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. "Coming and going," he says. "And through a lot of glasses of horrible wine." Harry laughs. Louis would never get tired of hearing Harry laugh he thinks, not even in a hundred years.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "At least it worked out in the end, didn't it? This place is great. Like an oasis or something."

"An oasis with great wine," Louis agrees, tipping his glass towards Harry.

"It reminds me of France," Harry says.

"You're from France?" Louis asks a bit surprised.

"No," Harry says. "But I lived there for a bit."

"Me too actually," Louis smiles. "But that was a while ago. And you're right, this place is kind of French. I think that's part of the charm. So many places here but yet none don't bother to be charming."

"You're charming," Harry says suddenly, and immediately blushes, looking like he would want the ground to swallow him whole right then.

"Thanks," Louis replies with a laugh, unsure of what else to say.

"Sorry," Harry starts, clearly flustered. "I didn't mean to. . ." He trails off, but perhaps emboldened by a glass and a half of wine he continues. "There's charms in your book," he says. He looks to Louis for a reaction but he says nothing so Harry looks away. “Charms,” he continues to fill in the silence. “Talismans, symbols. . . I don’t know what any of them mean really but they are charms, right?”

Harry nervously takes a sip of his wine before daring to look back up at his company. Louis chooses his words carefully, wary about the direction this conversation seems to be going.

“And what does some uni student who lived in France for a while know about charms and talismans?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

“Only the things I’ve read in books and stuff,” Harry replies. “I don’t remember what most of them mean, only the astrological symbols and some of the alchemical ones are sort of easy. Doesn’t mean I know them particularly well per say but yeah.” He pauses, as if he can’t decided whether or not he wants to elaborate, but then he adds, “ _La Roue de Fortune_ , the Wheel of Fortune. That’s the card in your book, I have it too. A whole deck actually.”

While early Louis had determined Harry as a bit more than mildly interesting and fairly pretty, this revelation adds something more. He leans over the table, regarding Harry with considerably increased interest than he had moments before.

“So you mean that you’ve read the tarot, Harry?” He asks. Harry nods.

“I did, or do actually. I try,” he starts. “Only for myself, though, which really isn’t reading very much. . It’s just. . . it’s something I picked up a few years ago I guess.”

“Do you have your deck with you?” Louis asks. Harry nods again. “I’d like to see them, if you don’t mind,” he adds, when he sees Harry not make a move. Harry glances around the cafe. Louis gives a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about them,” he says. “it takes a lot more than a deck of cards to scare this lot. But if you would rather not, I understand.”

“No! No, no, I don’t mind,” Harry says, standing up a bit and carefully pulling out a deck of cards from his back pocket. How he got them in there is the question, those jeans are just sinful. The cards are still fairly dry too, Louis can say that he's almost impressed.

Harry places the cares atop the table. “May I?” Louis asks as he moves to pick them up.

“Course,” Harry replies, surprised that Louis even asked.

“It’s just some readers don’t like other people touching their things,” Louis explains, remembering his divination lessons as he gently lifts the deck. “I wouldn’t want to seem like that kind of person.” He turns the top card, _Le Bateleur_. The Magician. Louis can’t help but smile at the card before moving onto the next.

“Do you read?” Harry asks him.

“No,” Louis answers. “I’m familiar with the cards, but they don’t speak to me you know? Not enough for me to properly read them.” He look up from the cards at Harry, still not knowing what to make of him. “They speak to you I’m guessing?”

“I’ve never thought of it that way, but I guess they do yeah.” Harry sits quietly, watching Louis flip through the deck. He treats them with such care, kind of like how Harry did with his journal, holding the cards gently by the edges. When Louis has looked through the entire deck, he places it back on the table.

“They’re really old,” he says. “Much older than you obviously. How did you even find these?”

“I found them in a jewelry box in an antiques shop in Paris actually,” Harry explains. “The woman there wouldn’t even sell me them. Just told me to take them away, get them out of her shop. She called them devil cards. _Cartes du Diable_.”

“Some people are just naive about these things,” Louis says, a phrase often repeated by his instructor who is also his manager, both in admonishment and warning. “And they would rather assume it’s all evil then even try to understand this. Sad, but true.”

“What’s the notebook for?” Harry asks, then quickly continues. “I don’t mean to pry, I just found it interesting. I’m still sorry for looking through it by the way.”

“I was waiting for you to ask,” Louis says. “But sadly it's kind of a complex thing. Not one of the easiest things to explain really."

“I'm not fooled easily,” Harry replies softly. "But I can believe." Louis says nothing, but watches Harry as intently as he had regarded his cards. Harry holds his gaze and doesn't look away.

It's too tempting. To have found someone who might actually begin to understand the world he has lived in almost his entire life. He knows he should just let it go, but he really can't.

“I could show you, if you want,” Louis says after a moment.

“I'd like that,” Harry says, a huge grin on his lips as he says it.

They finish their wine and Louis settles their bill with the woman behind the bar. He takes Harry's arm as soon as he stands up, stepping out of the warm café, once again into the rain.

Louis stops abruptly in the middle of the next block, finding yet another alleyway, narrow and both sides built of brick walls.

“This'll do,” he says. He leads Harry off of the pavement and into the space between the two buildings, positioning him so his back is against the cold wet stone, and Louis stands directly in front of him, so close that he can see each drop of rain slide down the shoulders of his coat.

“Do for what?” Harry asks, apprehension creeping into his voice, very deep and masculine voice. Louis get it together now, it's show time.

The rain is still falling around them and there is nowhere to go. Louis simply raises a small hand to quiet him, concentrating on the rain and the wall behind Harry's head.

He has never had someone to try this certain feat on before, and Louis' not even sure if he's going to be able to do it.

“Do you trust me?" He asks, watching Harry with the same intense gaze from the café, only this time their faces are so close they can feel each others breaths.

"Yes," Harry says it without hesitation.

"Good," Louis lifts his hand and firmly covers Harry's eyes.

Startled, Harry freezes. His vision is obscured and the only thing he can feel is the dampness of Louis' coat against his chest. He shivers, but he's not sure if it's cause of the cold of the rain or because of Louis being so close. A voice whispers words into his ear, but he can't understand them. Then suddenly the rain around him stops, and the wall behind him now feels rough and dry. Harry feels as if the world around him brightens, the air now a cool breeze before Louis lowers his hand.

Blinking his eyes to adjust, the first thing Harry sees is Louis standing in front of him, a bright smile playing on his lips. There are no rain drops on Louis' coat, there's actually no rain anywhere. Not even a trace as if to say that it was raining. But that's not what makes Harry gasp.

It's the fact that right now they're both standing in a forest, Harry's back against a big tree trunk that does. The trees are bare and black, their branches stretching towards the bright blue sky. The ground is covered in a light patch of snow that sparkles and shines in the sunlight. It's a perfect winter day and there isn't a building in sight for miles, only snow and trees and acres of forest. Harry is baffled. It's real. He can feel the sun against his skin and the bark of the tree beneath his fingertips. The snow is cold against his boot clad feet, though he realizes his clothes are no longer wet from the rain. Even the air he's breathing is unmistakably crisp country air, with not a hint of London musk. It can't be real, but it is.

“This is impossible,” he says, turning back to Louis. He smiles, his bright blue eyes dazzling in the winter sun.

“Nothing is impossible now, is it?” Harry laughs softly and shakes his head.

A million questions rush through his head and he can't even properly articulate any of them. And then a clear image of a card springs suddenly into his mind, _Le Bateleur_. “You’re a magician,” he says slowly.

“I don’t think anyone has actually called me that before,” Louis responds, although you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. Harry laughs again, and he's still laughing when Louis leans closer and closer until their lips touch. There's a pair of birds circling over their heads as a light wind blows through the branches of the trees around the two, their own kind of little solitude.

To a passersby on the darkened London street, they look like nothing out of the ordinary. Only young lovers kissing in the pouring rain.

 

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> ... Okay.
> 
> I really didn't mean for it to be bad or good or however you thought this is (hopefully good but I can take criticism). Please forgive me ah!  
>  
> 
> P.S I love talking, so come say hello yes? My [tumblr](http://www.larrymadhouse.tumblr.com) !  
>  
> 
> P.P.S Comments and kudos, comments and kudos would be lovely (:


End file.
